part of your world
by callitwhatyouwill77
Summary: He's an ordinary, unassuming sort of man. He's a lawyer, he lives in London, he likes orange juice. She's - well - not. She's Lady Mary Crawley. He has walked past billboards of Lady Mary Crawley. It just so happens that he also passed her in the street one day.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: I am still writing WTIL, I promise, but this little AU just popped into my head the other day and I can't promise regular updates as I'm horrendously busy, and I realise I've got several unfinished stories now but I couldn't resist writing this just to see what you think about it. It is based slightly off Notting Hill (quite a lot in this chapter but not really very much at all in the later ones if you want me to carry it on) and I hope you like it._

* * *

Mary heard the gasps in the street as someone or another recognised her. In spite of her large sunglasses and casual attire, she supposed she was still fairly recognisable. She heard someone snap a picture of her as she walked past the coffee shop on Pembroke Hill and another couple of people asked for her autograph- to which she threw a hasty smile and signed their outstretched phone cases. Someone else stopped her for a selfie and another, rather smug and self-confident, man asked for her number- she wrote down that of her sister, thinking it would be a good laugh when the joke played out. She was wolf whistled- which wasn't new, that had been a frequent occurrence even before her first film when she was just a teenager, and she ignored this- she was gaped at, turned to, followed and frisked and she reacted instinctively to each person's unique glance. She was polite when approached, gracious when flattered but not overly so. She'd grown accustomed to it all over the years, and as her fame had increased so had her skills at batting off the public in a courteous and lady-like fashion.

Only then one asshole bumped into her and knocked her coffee out of her hand and into the gutter. Either he didn't notice, or he didn't care because he then kept walking fast paced in the opposite direction to her stead step and the only glimpse she caught of him was his bright blue eyes before he hit her and the sight of his hurrying suit-clad back beneath blonde hair as he raced away when she whipped around in irritancy.

 _What a prick_ , she thought petulantly, beginning to walk away again.

* * *

Matthew got a call to his office at around three. He was ahead on work, his last client for the day had come and gone and he'd done all the latest reading on his current case, and thus he should have felt somewhat relaxed as his secretary, Martin, sent through the call, only he'd just been out on a drinks run for Martin and himself. A nice little coffee shop opposite their office had provided him with two cups of orange juice, for some reason he'd been craving it, but just then he'd received a text from the office that there was an important call waiting for him.

He'd rushed away, taking down the street at an all too fast pace and only after he was metres away, with a thick crowd burgeoning between them, did he realise he'd just accidently knocked someone.

When he arrived back in his office, he took the call up from the front desk.

Belle had got sick at school, and he needed to pick her up.

He went upstairs to gather his things and he stuffed the remaining files into his bag, hastily shrugging his jacket over his shirt and dropping out of his office, resolving to work from home for the remainder of the day.

His car was parked a few streets away—opposite his house to be exact—and he shouldered through the London street masses to get to it, searching blindly in his pocket for his keys as he did so. He was in such a hurry, not looking ahead or even paying the people around him due attention, that he ran headlong into someone, colliding hard with the arm said person held in front of them, carrying their second cup of coffee of the day.

"Oh my god!"

Matthew winced at her exclamation and looked down in horror to see that he'd knocked her drink all over her shirt.

"Oh… my… I'm… dear god, I'm so sorry…" he stammered, coming to an immediate halt. He averted his eyes gentlemanly from her chest, her white shirt becoming rather see through as the drink stained the expensive looking fabric. "Oh, dear, I do apologise… I'm frightfully sorry… let me buy you another drink…"

He cut off completely when he saw her remove her sunglasses and took in the full beauty of her face.

 _Bloody hell_ , he'd just run headlong into Lady Mary Crawley. _The_ Lady Mary Crawley.

"No please," she hastened, incredibly irritated by his bumbling ineptitude. She looked up at him, watching his nervous blue eyes as he swept away a messy lock of hair from in front of his face.

Her eyes narrowed.

"You've done quite enough—that's twice you've knocked my coffee out of my hands today."

Matthew frowned, then remembered the person he'd knocked into earlier.

"Then at least let me offer you a refund and a place to clean up," he said, his voice still anxious and apologetic. "My house is just across the road—I'm sure we can have you spick and span and back on the street in no time."

As soon as the words had left his mouth he realised with horror how they sounded. He hastened to correct himself as she looked at him with thinly veiled contempt.

"Oh—no—sorry, I mean… in the non-prostitute sense obviously…"

She did not look amused.

 _You utter, utter buffoon_ , he thought, mentally hitting himself, you walk headlong into Lady Mary Crawley twice in one day, knock her drink out of her hands on both occasions and then accidentally insinuate that she's some kind of…

 _Oh god, he really was a complete moron._

Then she sighed, still not impressed, but relenting slightly to needing a place to clean herself up a bit. At least this man didn't seem like he was any kind of threat.

"What do you mean across the street? Give it to me in yards!"

He nodded to the house with a light blue door opposite them that stood between two bookstores on the other side of the street.

"About eight yards, it's just over there."

"Alright then—but be quick about it."

He felt rather awkward as he searched through his bag for his house keys and when he did manage to find them and get the door open, he found post blocking the door so he had to force it heavily to get through, which admittedly was rather embarrassing as he then had to squeeze through the tiny gap he had created and pull the post out from inside to let her in.

For a second, he thought he caught her smirking at his expense, but then, when he shyly looked back, she'd wiped it clean off her face and stepped into his foyer.

They both stood there more a minute, looking around the hallway somewhat strangely in bemused embarrassment before he snapped out of his amazed trance.

"Oh!" he exclaimed suddenly. "The bathroom!"

She found herself laughing at him.

"It's upstairs, the first door on the left."

He scratched the back of his neck with his palm, keeping his head bowed but his eyes on her as she walked up his staircase.

He could hardly believe it.

Mary Crawley was in his house.

He tried not to stare at her legs in that skirt. Ultimately, he failed, but to his credit he had tried.

She disappeared into the bathroom and as soon as he heard the door click shut behind her, he rushed about clumsily tidying the hall.

He threw the post down on the table and kicked his stray shoes into a neat line under the coat pegs. His bike lay haphazardly against the wall and he rolled it away into a free space next to the door to the under-stair cupboard. He brought his bag and placed it in the kitchen – she wouldn't go in there so it didn't matter if he dumped his things on the counter—and then proceeded to empty his pockets next to it, pulling out his phone, keys, loose change and a balled up tissue (unused) a leaving them there.

He wandered back to the bottom of the stairs, pacing the floorboards raw. He stopped, thinking about the events of the day and then groaned loudly, focussing specifically on how much of a git he'd been, pressing his forehead against the wall and knocking it several times.

"Are you alright there?"

He jumped back, looking up at where she stood, one beautifully perfect eyebrow raised in amused surprise as she watched him behaving like a complete lunatic.

She'd changed her top, now wearing a black one that was low cut and cropped. He tried not to focus on it. Tried being the keyword in that sentence.

She was just so breath-taking.

"Yes!" He said hastily, a little too quickly for normality. "You?"

"Well, apart from my ruined top and the fact that I'm still thirsty, yes I suppose I'm fine." She said it with a jest, her voice appropriately playful for the role of her eyes that accompanied it.

He gritted his teeth and offered her an awkward expression of apology.

"I really am sorry, and I'll refund you on your top and both coffees of course…"

"No, no," she shook her head, "Don't worry about it, just lend me your phone and we'll call it quits."

He nodded, wandering vaguely why she didn't just use her own phone but he didn't question it. If she wanted to use his phone, she was completely welcome to.

"Sure, I just… left it in the kitchen."

He gave a funny sort of hop through the hall and into the kitchen, thinking about what pace of walk would be appropriate. He'd look odd if he went too quickly, right? But if he went too slowly, well, that would look weird too.

He shook his head to rid the thought, she probably thought he was already rather strange- who leaves their phone in the kitchen? What a stupid thing to do! She'd remember him as that odd bloke that kept his phone in the bloody kitchen!

He grabbed it and turned to go and give it to her—only then realising that she'd followed him into the room.

"Here," he handed it to her and then wrung his hands nervously.

Mary pressed the home button, taking in his lock screen with a curiosity that shocked her.

A girl with shoulder length blonde hair and green eyes smiled a sweet, toothy grin from the phone and Mary couldn't help but smile slightly at the picture. The girl was cute, couldn't have been older than four or five, and she wondered vaguely if this odd, stuttering, nervous stranger was actually a married man with a daughter.

"It's locked," she said, handing the phone back to him.

"Oh—sorry, here," he handed the unlocked phone back.

He watched somewhat intrigued as her fingers brushed across the surface of his phone. He expected her to make a call, but she didn't, instead she looked like she was typing something. He turned and made himself busy with something else.

"Can I get you a drink?" he asked, looking through his fridge. "Orange juice, water, tea, grapefruit juice, sparkling water, apple juice, Ribena—actually I don't have any Ribena so scratch that—um… coffee?"

She gave him a look.

"Perhaps not," he amended, grinning slightly. "Sorry, I'm rambling a bit."

"No thank you," she answered nicely, still tapping away at his phone.

"Something to eat? Toast, bread, sandwich? Omelette? Yoghurt? Apple? Pear?" He continued to blurt words ridiculously. "Pickled onions? I don't actually know why I have pickled onions. I don't remember buying them—or liking them particularly—they have an odd texture don't you think? Like biting into an eyeball…" he trailed off, realising how much of a fool he was showing himself to be.

"No thanks," she answered again.

"Do you say no to everything?" he asked, smiling at her.

She looked up from his phone and her countenance turned thoughtful for a second, grinning at the answer she knew she was about to give.

"No," she answered, laughing with him.

She dialled the number of her assistant and pressed the phone to her ear.

"Hey, Elsie, could you send my car to…" she looked pointedly at Matthew, covering the phone with her other hand.

He hastened to tell her his address, and he marvelled at the strange prospect of it being repeated by her lips into the receiver.

Lady Mary Crawley was in his house.

All too soon, his doorbell was rung with the arrival of her car and he showed her to the door, opening it for her slowly, to preserve the time.

"I really am sorry, truly." His voice was soft, low and gentle with the merest undertone of playfulness.

"Water under the bridge, I suppose." She was surprised to find that her words also carried a sincerity to them. And as she looked up into his ridiculously bright blue eyes, she felt her heart jolt a little.

His blonde hair flopped back down over his face.

"Well it was nice to meet you," he said, breaking the sudden meaningful silence that had overcome them.

"Surreal, but nice."

And the moment was lost.

His stupid verbal diarrhoea had made him look the fool yet again.

With his face turning red in acute embarrassment at his half-witted comment, he clicked open the front door and watched her retreating back with mingled odd feelings. Despite the stupidity of his word choice, it had been accurate.

It had been terribly surreal.

He wandered back to the kitchen, picking up his phone and smiling at the picture of Belle on his lock screen.

 _Belle!_

 _Oh shit._

 _Shit._

 _Shit._

 _Shit._

 _He was a terrible, terrible person._

He stuffed his phone back into his pocket along with his keys and change, then proceeded to race out of the house and over to his car.

Breaking a few speed limits and crossing through a few red lights aside, he made it to her nursery vaguely on time without much hassle.

She was waiting on a seat in the nursery office when he got there.

Her legs, clad in Olaf-patterned tights, swung underneath her, her white trainers- ones that flashed when she walked- not reaching the ground.

He sighed sadly at her melancholy expression.

"Hey Belle," he knelt in front of her to bring them to closer heights and tucked a lock of her golden blonde hair behind her ear. Her eyes were red and puffy and he frowned, brushing a tear softly from her plump cheek.

"I'm not well," she mumbled, sniffing.

"I know, darling." He picked her up and rubbed her back gently as she wrapped her arms around his neck. "I'm going to take you home, okay? You run and get your coat and lunch box and then I'll buy you some pink milk and we can watch the little mermaid, alright?"

Belle nodded and scampered off to the cloakroom to bring back her things. Matthew zipped her into her coat and re-strapped the Velcro on her shoes, taking her things in one hand and picking her up with the other to hold her against his hip.

"Were you at work?" she asked as he buckled her into the car seat.

"Yes, I was at my office actually." He answered. He shut the door and walked around to the front of the car, clambering into the driver's side.

"Why didn't mummy pick me up?"

"Because mummy was even more busy at work than me."

"Oh," she said, turning to stare out of the window. "I drew a picture for you today, but Miss Keener said I had to leave it on the table to dry."

Matthew smiled. "What was the picture of?"

"Me and you," she answered. "And a unicorn."

He laughed.

"I thought you could put it on your fridge with the others."

"Well that's very thoughtful darling, thank you."

Belle grinned, feeling slightly better. "When you buy the pink milk can you buy some chocolate too?"

Matthew knew she thought him a soft touch to her whims and a lot of the time he tried not to indulge her, but she was ill and he wanted to cheer her up, so he agreed.

* * *

She was curled on the sofa in a blanket when he brought her in the pink milk and chocolate. He stuck the DVD on and clambered into her nest of cushions and bed clothes to sit beside her. She sniffed and shuffled over to him, sucking her thumb into her mouth and laying her head on his thigh.

Matthew stroked her hair gently back over her face, watching her eyes droop heavily as Ariel sang the reprise of part of your world.

Once she was sound asleep, he tucked the blankets more closely over her and reached into his pocket for his phone.

He unlocked it and double-tapped the home button to delete his multi-tasking tabs. It was a force of habit, and he knew Lady Mary Crawley probably hadn't bothered to do it earlier.

Curiously, he saw that she'd opened more than just the phone app, and had also taken the liberty of writing something in his notes.

He opened it, feeling his heart beat a little faster as he read:

 _You still owe me two coffees, stranger._

Then, underneath it, was a phone number.

* * *

 _A/N: any thoughts?_


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: just a note, the places I have mentioned in this chapter, the last one and throughout the rest of this story I will have most likely made up the road names, so whether it is an actual place in London I have no idea. Also, there is a bit of dialogue from four wedding and a funeral in here because I couldn't resist.

* * *

His heart was lodged uncomfortably in his throat. His stomach fluctuated dangerously and he wandered vaguely whether it felt more like he was about to throw up or have a heart attack.

Before he could change his mind or pace a hole in his carpet, he pressed her contact and watched in complete terror as her phone began to ring.

It took four rings for her to pick up, and they had been the longest four rings of his life. He felt slightly lightheaded and thought it best he sat down before he collapsed, so by the second ring he dropped onto the sofa, holding the phone to his ear willing himself not to say something utterly stupid.

 _What if she didn't pick up? He was too much of a rambling fool to leave a message – that would really be embarrassing._

"Hello?"

 _Be normal. Be normal._

"Hi!"

 _Oh god._

"it's Matthew … I just called to ask… I mean I was wondering…"

"Sorry," Mary interrupted, a slight smirk dawning on her face. "Who are you?"

She knew exactly who it was, she'd recognised his voice the second he'd greeted her and yet she felt like playing with him a little. She delegated her personal phone number to very few people- her family, her agent, her closest friends, the concierge of her family's London hotel whom she'd known forever, and then the stranger from the coffee incident who's name she hadn't yet attained.

Apparently, he was called Matthew.

 _Nice name,_ she thought. _It suited him._

Matthew blushed, his face turning bright pink.

"Oh, gosh, I'm terribly sorry, I forgot I never actually told you my name- I'm Matthew. We met outside a coffee shop a couple of days ago, you gave me your number – you probably don't remember me…"

"I'm joking," she laughed, "Of course I remember you. I haven't forgotten that you owe me two drinks either."

Matthew smiled. She remembered him.

He felt like an anxious teenager trying to ask out their crush to the school dance. He was all stutters and jitters, craning over his phone to catch her every word. He needed to pull himself together. This was Mary Crawley, she wouldn't go out with him if he couldn't sum up the courage to even talk to her. He geared himself up, and breathed, spilling out an even toned and well-mannered question.

"Well, about those drinks, I wandered if you were free any time soon so I could repay you in kind?"

He suddenly felt more confident. Waiting for her response, he added: "And I also wanted to apologise for the 'surreal but nice' comment—total disaster."

She laughed at that.

"Oh, I shouldn't worry about that, to be honest I thought the pickled onion thing was the real low point." She paused, pretending to consider his question.

Matthew could feel his heart thumping harshly against his ribs.

"I'm free this afternoon, what did you have in mind?"

"Well, um…" he really should have thought this through but to tell the truth he wasn't really expecting her to say yes, "there's a place on the corner of the Camden passage in Islington, do you know it?"

"I'm sure I can find it. Favourite spot of yours?"

"Yes actually, it's rather good. You'll be glad I spilt your coffee, I promise."

He could hear the breaths of laughter coming down the line.

"What time?"

What time would sound normal? She said she was free this afternoon so it shouldn't be late or it would technically be evening, but if it was too early that might be over enthusiastic or not give her enough time to get there.

"Is three o'clock alright?" He settled on neutral ground.

"Perfect. See you later, stranger."

"Yeah, see you."

 _Well, that didn't go too badly. That didn't go too badly at all._

He waited for her to hang up, watching her contact disappear on the screen of his phone before standing up from the sofa and doing a discreet leap of joy.

* * *

He was twenty minutes early. He wondered if he should wait inside or outside, or how he should stand. He wasn't entirely sure whether it was a date or not. He'd opted for smart-casual dress. He wore a button down blue shirt with sleeves rolled to the elbow and a couple of buttons undone at the top. His jeans were of the nicer variety, but, as he'd come straight from looking after Belle, the only shoes in the nearby vicinity were his converse. He probably looked quite strange, but the moment he saw her walking down the street, turning heads as she did so, he couldn't bring himself to care much about his appearance.

Unfortunately, his wave was a disaster.

He raised his hand so a sort of shoulder height and awkwardly held it there frozen for too long for a normal person. He needn't have waved at all, for she had recognised him quickly and easily, walking toward him with a confident stride.

"Hello," he smiled, offering her his hand to shake.

"Hello, Matthew," she shook his hand politely. "You read my note then."

It had been a rather spur of the moment and reckless thing to do, but she'd liked him. She found his meekness somewhat endearing and his unselfish generosity and kindness had been vastly different to the multitude of other men that tried to weasel their way into her approval. When he'd invited her into his house, she thought he'd been trying to make a pass at her and yet as soon as she'd got there she realised she'd misjudged him terribly. He seemed like a nice man. And a rather attractive one at that.

"I did," he answered, "it was rather a surprise, I must say."

She didn't doubt it.

He held open the door to the café for her, gesturing for her to precede him in and she smiled at him graciously before stepping through the threshold. It was nice, sort of modern with an old school touch- stylised and pretty. There was a bar at the back and polished wooden tables dotted around everywhere. It was pleasantly busy and yet not too much so.

He led her to a window seat and they sat opposite each other, both discreetly admiring the view afforded to them.

He had such astonishing eyes. She could very easily get lost in them. She almost did, him having to ask her what she would like more than once before she realised he was saying something.

"Oh," she exclaimed, "is it too early for a martini?"

Matthew grinned, "It's after midday, that's good enough for me."

She quirked an eyebrow, intrigued by his sudden ease of presence. He seemed more relaxed, composed- more so than he was outside judging by his frankly hilarious wave of greeting- and his charming but also nervous exterior was outlandishly attractive.

A young girl came to take their drinks orders and Mary noticed the familiar widening of eyes as they laid upon her. She tried to ignore it, for the last place she wanted to feel famous was in the middle of a first date (of sorts).

"So, Matthew…"

"Crawley." He finished. "Don't worry—we're not related. I've checked, extensively."

"You're joking," she accused.

He shook his head.

"I don't believe you." she said, astounded.

He took out his driver's licence from his wallet and showed her it, grinning bashfully.

"Wow, that's a strange coincidence." She said, further intrigued by this strange man. "Although I suppose it is a fairly common English name."

"You'd know, you are part of the aristocracy after all."

She rolled her eyes. "How do you know that?"

"I passed two posters and three busses with you on just this morning, I'd say information on you is pretty well known."

His smile seemed a beautiful mix of charming and alluring. It was enough to concentrate her on nothing else.

"I suppose that is a fair enough excuse," she admitted, sipping her drink delicately.

She eyed him curiously, his look and manner decidedly innocent as their conversation flowed easily between them. He'd loosened up since their last meeting and he suited it well. She was surprised at how remarkably simple it was to talk to him, perplexed at how relaxed she was in his company. Perhaps it was because she was on her third drink, perhaps it was adrenaline stemmed from excitement, perhaps it was because he was such great company, but she felt elated by the way this was playing out. This nervous yet handsome stranger was proving to be the best date she'd had… well, ever.

It was nearing half six when a man unknown to Mary approached their table, tapping Matthew on the shoulder.

"Matthew Crawley! I haven't seen you since freshman year."

She watched as Matthew stood up to greet the man.

"Toby Wilson! It's good to see you! How are you? How's your girlfriend… Leslie, was it?"

The man nodded. "She's no longer my girlfriend."

Matthew gave an awkward grimace and threw a conspiratorial look at Mary.

"Ah well," he said, slapping the man sympathetically on the shoulder. "Don't be too gloomy. Rumour has it she never stopped shagging Mike Hayward."

Matthew gave a laugh, as if it was a mutually hilarious topic and Mary covered her mouth to mask her laughter as Toby's face dropped and he said:

"She's now my wife."

Matthew paled.

Mary shook with mirth, closing her eyes and clamping her hand more harshly over her lips to stop herself from breaking into peals of laughter.

"Excellent!" Matthew said, trying and failing dramatically to amend the situation. "Excellent. Congratulations. Any kids or anything, Toby? Do we hear the patter of tiny … feet?"

"No," Toby answered stonily.

Mary wondered if she'd have to crawl under the table to stop herself from giggling.

"Well, there's plenty of time for that. We're still young. No hurry."

Unsurprisingly, the man left quite soon afterwards and Matthew sat back down in his seat, his face red from held back laughter.

One look at Mary and they both erupted to a laughing fit.

"I can't believe you just did that!" she gasped, still giggling. "You just ruined his marriage!"

Matthew tried to stifle his chuckling.

It didn't work.

"Technically his wife ruined his marriage by cheating on him," he reasoned.

They were still tittering together when Mary's phone rang.

She took it from her pocket with the intention of declining it, but saw it was her agent and reconsidered.

"I'm so sorry, Matthew but it's my agent. Do you mind?"

Matthew looked somewhat surprised, hastily ushering her to go ahead.

"No, no, of course not. Please take it."

He felt elated. Not only had he successfully asked out Lady Mary Crawley, but the subsequent date, unless he was very much mistaken, had gone really well. He liked her, very much and, if he had been reading the signs right, it seemed she liked him too. He'd discovered a lot about her—the personal little things that made her personality rather than what had been written about her on her Wikipedia page. Her favourite colour was blue. She liked pretty much all food but despised boiled potatoes. Her favourite film was Forrest Gump (something he hadn't expected) and she liked The Cranberries. She liked to sing, but was still growing in confidence when doing it in front of people.

He was still in a daze when she put down the phone, frowning.

"I'm so dreadfully sorry but it seems I've totally forgotten that I'm late for a press conference. My agent has sent over a car. It should be here in five minutes."

Matthew couldn't help but be disappointed, but his heart lifted in spirits as she continued.

"I've really enjoyed this though," she added, smiling. "And technically, you still owe me two coffees."

He grinned.

"Yes, I suppose I do."

He declined all her offers to pay half the bill and waited outside with her for her car to come.

He felt giddy with an unbridled excitement.

A car rolled up all too soon and Mary turned to him, still slightly apologetic.

"Call me." She insisted. "I've really enjoyed getting to know you, Matthew Crawley."

"I could say the same to you."

She kissed him on the cheek. A light brush of her soft lips against his skin, barely a split second long, but it made his heart flutter all the same.

He barely managed to wipe the faint imprint of her lipstick away before she was gone.

 _Wow._


End file.
